Barolli took the call, but this time Cameron was distinctly unfriendly and quite cold about DI Travis not taking his calls.
“She’s out working, Mr. Welsh, so if you have anything to say, please go ahead. I’m all ears.”
“I have more details I wish to discuss with you and Anna, but I find the cell door being closed very constricting. I want you to get permission for us to sit outside in the recreational area.”
“That may not be possible.”
“Then I won’t see you. Pass on my message to Anna.” The phone went down, and Barolli tutted.
“He’s really pushing himself, cheeky bastard.” He turned to see Langton standing by the incident-room board, which unnerved him slightly.
“What did he have to say for himself?” Langton asked, turning to face Barolli.
“Claims to have more information but wants us to talk without the bars.”
“Ignore him. Let’s see how long it’ll be before he calls again.”
“He was peeved that Travis wasn’t here to talk to him.”
“Really. Well, if this is all down to him having the hots for her, he can go and stuff himself. Where is she?” Langton demanded.
Barbara signaled to him. “She may have got a trace on a relative of our first victim, Margaret Potts. He works for a bailiff company and could be the person Maggie Potts used to track down punters who knocked her around.”
“Where did Anna get him from?”
“She traced Potts’s husband — it came via him.”
Langton threw a cool look at Barolli, who squirmed in his seat.
“Got to hand it to her,” the detective said sheepishly. “Always busy, busy...”
When Langton moved off to Mike’s office, Barolli turned to Barbara and asked in a different voice, “When did all this go down?”
“About an hour ago. She’ll be on her way to interview this brother-in-law. You never know, he might have some information we could use. Nothing else is happening, is it?”
Barolli pursed his lips. Yet again Anna had trampled over him, and he knew that if she was able to get this information now, he should have been able to find it months ago.
The office was above a fish-and-chip shop. The name of the company appeared to be Debt Collectors, with no other sign — just a small arrow in red felt-tipped pen on the card stuck to the door. Anna climbed up a narrow staircase, where the pungent smell of fried food hung in the air. From outward appearances, at least, the business didn’t look as if it were exactly flourishing.
At the top of the second staircase, a makeshift partition with a frosted-glass door had been built across the landing. Anna rang the bell, and the door was opened by a thin-faced woman in her late fifties with iron-gray hair and a matching suit.
“Yes?”
Anna showed her ID, and the woman stepped back.
“Come in.”
The small reception area was cramped. A desk and two chairs and a large old-fashioned filing cabinet were all that could fit into the small space. Two doors led off from the reception, and Anna was politely asked to sit, and the woman introduced herself as Mrs. Kelly.
“I am a sort of general dogsbody. We have two offices, and my husband owns the company. We’re unusually busy right now, with a lot of people wanting their debts sorted. It’s strange, isn’t it? Bad times for some and good for others.”
“Is Mr. Potts in?”
“Not yet, but he’s due any moment. He’s training two new employees, and they were out early, but I told someone who called wanting to get particulars from him...”
“That would have been from my station.” Anna passed her card to Mrs. Kelly.
“Yes. I said he was expected back at lunchtime, but sometimes there may be a problem that needs sorting. My husband is in his office, if you’d like to talk to him.”
“I would, yes, but can you tell me a little about Mr. Potts first?”
“Ask my husband. I’ll just tell him you are here.” The woman glanced at the card Anna had passed to her and crossed a few paces to knock on one of the office doors. She gave a small smile. “One moment.”
Mrs. Kelly was fast, darting into the office before Anna could say anything. She came out almost as quickly and held the door ajar. “Ron will see you, Detective Travis.”
Ron Kelly was a short, squat man with a pair of wide red braces and checked trousers. The thick leather belt around his waist looked as if it held his girth in too tightly. His desk was filled with files and trays overflowing with papers. A computer took up most of the rest of the space on his desk. In here, the smell from the fish-and-chip shop was overpowering.
“Sit down, love, I’m Ronald Kelly.” He was pompous, and when he stood to shake Anna’s hand, he seemed no taller than when he was sitting behind his desk.
“Let me just say that Eric’s one of my most trusted employees,” he went on immediately. “He’s been with me for nearly eight years, so you won’t hear me say a word against him. Lovely bloke, he is — do anything for you, and he’s good at his job.”
“I actually wanted to talk to him about his sister-in-law, Margaret Potts.”
Kelly looked confused.
“Margaret Potts was murdered, and I am investigating her death,” Anna explained. “I would just like to ask Mr. Potts some questions about whether he knew her well and could perhaps help me trace some of her friends. I was given Eric’s name by his brother, Stanley.”
“I don’t know anything about the poor woman, but I know of the brother. I’ve not actually met him, but he’s a bad lot, by all accounts. I’m certain Eric has nothing to do with him. In fact, I’ve not heard him mention his name for a long time. He was in prison, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was.”
“So this poor woman was his wife?”
“Yes.”
“Eric’s not said anything to me about her, but then, he’s a private sort. We don’t mix socially, and he’s not in the office that much. Most of his work is out on the road, see.”
“What work did he do before he came to your company?”
“Army. He’d done twenty years’ service. I’ve been looking for his CV, but to be honest, after so many years working here, I couldn’t tell you where it is. I’ll get the wife to try and dig it out; she handles most of the paperwork.”
“Thank you, but I doubt it will be necessary. Do you employ a lot of ex — army officers?”
“Yes and no. Got a couple on the books along with ex-coppers, but not all of them are regulars like Eric. I bring them in when I’m overloaded. Funnily enough, right now we’ve got a shedload of work on. Eric’s out with two guys this morning, showing them the ropes. There’s a lot of outstanding debts at the moment, with nonpayment of rent a big problem.”
At that moment, Mrs. Kelly tapped on the door and popped her head round to say that Eric had returned and was in his office.
Anna stood up. There was nothing more she could gain from Mr. Kelly, but as she walked to the door, she paused. “The ex — police officers you employ — I’d appreciate you giving me their details before I leave. Thank you.”
Eric Potts bore no resemblance to his brother, Stanley. He was six feet tall and muscular, with sloping shoulders, a man who obviously did weight training. He was wearing a charcoal-gray suit and a white shirt and a smart tie, and his handshake was strong. He offered Anna a cup of coffee, which she declined. He had a flask in front of him and a mug, along with a sandwich. Unlike his boss’s desk his desk was devoid of anything else, and the office was much smaller. The window behind him had a broken blind and looked as if it had not been washed for years. The other odd thing about his office was that it smelled of room spray — or it could have been his cologne; whatever, it was strong and obliterated the smell wafting up from the fish-and-chip shop.